


The Avengers are my therapists?!

by Iron_SpiderGirl



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anorexic Peter Parker, Depressed Ned Leeds, Doctor Bruce Banner - Freeform, Drug Addiction, Drug addicted Michelle Jones, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No one has powers, Not the Avengers compliant, Other, Precious Peter Parker, Yep not compliant with any of the films, bulimic Peter Parker, therapist Steve Rogers, therapist Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_SpiderGirl/pseuds/Iron_SpiderGirl
Summary: Now Tony Stark liked to believe he was a lot of things. A genius, a billionaire, a playboy, a philanthropist. A man who wants to change the world. He never imagined himself as a therapist though. A doctor specialising in mental health. Yet, he would do anything help lead the younger generation to a better future. Including owning and maintaining the stability of: ‘The Avengers’, a hospital specialising in dealing with mental disorders such as eating disorders, depression, extreme anxiety and addiction. Specialising in the youth department. No teen expects to end up there, in fact you need several referrals to even be considered for the waiting list. And that’s why nearly everyone there is a rather oddball. Including the staff.





	1. Peter’s Introduction.

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst this features and prioritises the Avengers cast. This book does not focus on dealing with enemies, certainly not from outer space. If any, from inside your head. 
> 
> Steve and Bucky are only a few years older then Tony. Pepper is a trained eating disorder specialist. Bucky is trained in social dissociation after experiencing trauma. Tony- anxiety, commonly the most extreme cases you can find. Natasha, violent tendencies. Steve, drug addiction. Bruce is a Doctor, however also specialises in anger issues and anti social behaviour.

Peter Parker’s introduction. (Tw: eating disorder themes.)

You would find a hospital, to be little more then a sickening void. A snake twisting it’s tail round your body, engulfing you like a black hole. Starved of your corpse. With each passing second your life shortens, you take a step closer to your grave. Whether that’s sick in your bed, or a hospital trolley. That’s your call. Ironic, isn’t it? A hospital is created for the sick, the weak, the broken. Whether it specialises in illness of the body, like most. Or the mind. People are carted like stray dogs would be to a shelter behind the weighted, magnolia doors. More then many would like to admit. Nobody wants to be in the hospital. To experience the horror of death gently laying a icy hand on your cheek. As it mutters sweet sorrows, into your ear. A gentle lullaby to hum as you pass. To experience the blockade of your nostrils, as the overwhelming stench of bleach makes you shockingly more weary as time passes. The gentle ticking of the clock, a reminder of your life slipping through your fingertips. The agony as your eyes are tainted by the constant ivory walls, never changing. Posters, are banned. So is fun. Enjoying yourself is a distant memory. And as the months past, you can no grasp onto the comfort of memories. They pry your fingers from there thinning figure and drift gently across the water filling your head. Your desperate to call out to them, drag them back to allow you to reminisce of the times before. But you can’t. Forget speaking. You can’t even think straight. 

Boredom, has since taken you prisoner. The clicking of machines, is harsh and unforgiving to sensitive ears. Yet falls on deaf ears, as the familiarity causes it to fade into the background. The sharp tones of nurses and doctors voices, slipping on vowels and rolling their r’s, harsh enough to scratch your ears. And you wonder what you did to deserve this. Why are you the sick one? 

Peter had always despised hospitals, even the word left a bitter, unforgiving taste in his mouth. As his lungs tightened, restricting and his stomach fell to knots. The looks he received in the waiting rooms was brutal, each time he went for his weekly weigh in. The look of disgust coating the judgemental parents face, as their hands tightly grasped their children’s hand. Whilst the child cradled an obviously sprained wrist. The look of pity, masking the nurses otherwise soft features. The two would come together to examine Peter. Feeling his ribs under his flannel, even from a good eight feet away. They would curl their own bony hands under them, poking and prodding. Hissing out his flaws. They would draw diagrams of Peter skeletal figure, and one day- his corpse. That’s where starvation gets you, yet Peter didn’t have a death wish. He didn’t want to die. He just wanted everything, to slow down. 

His eyes were empty, lost. They jerked aimlessly, around the room. Avoidant of eye contact, whether that was intentional or not was unknown. Peter refused to acknowledge, the crowded room. He felt truly alone. His face was hollow, a sorrowful sight for all. He knew to accept, others believed he looked sick. A car wreck, or at least one waiting to happen. He was the broken down car of the family, the one you were desperate to discard off but no one wanted. It was long past it’s sell by date. At least, that’s how he felt. He knew what he did to his body was wrong, the damage would soon be irreversible and he would regret it for the rest of his life. No matter that time periods length. But there was an odd amount of pride, that accompanied the comfort he gained as his hands unconsciously moved across his bony shoulders, his collarbones could collect rain water, if he dared reveal them. Peter masked his body under thick layers of cotton shirts, insecurities visible to even blind eyes. 

Annoyance radiated through him, as the familiar ticking of the waiting room clock, fell slowly to constant hissing. He rolled his tongue over his teeth, a nervous habit. He locked his fingers around his bony wrist, another one. He slid the fingers carefully up his arm. Once he would have marvelled at his progress. The thinning process was quick, by anyone’s standards. He had finally reached a goal. Reached danger zone. That meant inpatient. He was being forced into the kitchen- to be fed, and fed, a true pig. Under the hospitals overbearing grip. With their constant viewing.His once impeccable metabolism couldn’t save him now. He would have to gain weight, to the staffs sick delight. As they marvel over the fact they had saved someone. But Peter, he didn’t want to recover. He just wanted to be thin, to be in control. He wasn’t ill, he just had a goal. Peter Parker, the anorexic. 

May’s soft fingers, traced hearts over the bones of Peter’s hand. Her lips painted pictures. As she reminded him of the good times before. Before Peter found himself determined to be the thinnest, in his class. Before Uncle Ben had died. It was Peter’s final breaking point. Whether or not he admitted it. And he did. In an office, ten minutes later. As tears burned the soft skin stretched over his face. He weeped, burying his head into his aunts shoulder. As the doctor stated the words no one wants to hear. For them, or their child. Inpatient care. Danger zone meant inpatient. May’s body felt limp underneath his feather like body. She was having her boy taken from her so quickly. Nearly as quickly as her husbands life fell from the hole in his chest. And Peter hates how he did this to her. But he couldn’t stop. It was addictive. Like drugs would be too an addict. He couldn’t stop. That’s why he ended up where he did. To be admitted where he was. The Avengers mental hospital/facility for sick teens. It was well known all doctors their were the best in their field. So you had to be a truly desperate case to be admitted. And that title had Peter in tears.


	2. Ned, Michelle and Wade’s introduction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle~ drug addiction, caused by stress and pressure. 
> 
> Ned~ Depression, caused by bullying and social pressure to fit in. 
> 
> Wade~ Depression/Self harm, caused by a bad home life and then a sad school life.

Michelle.

Euphoric. There remains a specific achievement that followed the amendment of being high. A compensation that Michelle endured for. The overwhelming emotion was an added gift, occurring in sharp, constant pulses. A constant remembrance. Don’t act innocent. You would do the equivalent. Michelle’s living had a guide. Popping pellets had their position. A valued position. Morning. And Night. Throughout the day. Confinements slotted into Michelle’s routines- study out. Michelle wasn’t bothered, as her grades plummeted. Her parents nonetheless were mortified. So came, the bickering. The arguments were constant. Their frustration tracked after her like a robe. Yet, she used it with arrogance. All Michelle fretted about was her quantities. 

Destined for prestige, the anxiety ate away at her. Tore her appendage from appendage. The ecstasy went from an assistance, to a lifeline. Michelle was an addict. Still her parents rotten determination hauled her spoiled ass, to a therapist. Rehab, after rehab. Nothing. And with little left, her parents sent her away again. To the Avengers facility. With the rims of her hands, bruised and bashed. The skin flaky, and a troubling sight. She despised doors. An undeserving easily acquired barrier. Separation tactics. She also despised her parents, but she loved them as well. That’s why she cried into her mothers blouse- swearing this will be the final time. 

Ned.

At the young age, of six. Ned recognised that life- wasn’t fair. Life owed you nothing. Some kids were lucky. Ned however. Was an overweight, bullied child. Not so lucky. Ned knew depression at the ripe, age of seven. Like a demonic puppy, it trailed after him. Encasing Ned’s legs in its leash, and when Ned tried to run to his parents. It’s gob. Ned called his suicidal thoughts, wishful thinking. An easy exit. It’s all he wanted.

He knew his parents would be upset. But they normally were. Ned couldn’t remember the happy childhood, he had been gifted with. All he remembered was from the time of his mother’s diagnosis. Breast cancer. Terminal, breast cancer. Her lifespan lowered greatly. They all expected it to kill her, in fact. That’s when his father started to drink. Started to throw back bottle, after bottle. It scared Ned. A lot scared Ned nowadays. His mother stalked the house, like a ghost. His father lost his job. With neither parents working, they couldn’t afford much. Maybe, it was the lack of gifts that got to Ned. Or attention. 

One winter night, Ned penned out a suicide note. Fifteen years old. This was as far as he believed he would get. His mother was bordering her own death bed. Yet, he believed he would reach his first. Then the swallowed pills, didn’t work and neither did the therapy. It was too expensive. The family was desperate. Desperation, does things to people. Unspeakable things. 

Luckily for the trio however. Ned was offered a place, at the Avengers rehabilitation facility. Suddenly, life seemed to be looking up. Looking out for them. The Leeds would take whatever they were given. And this would have to do. 

Wade. 

Wade’s life was rather tragic. Had been since birth. A father, what’s that? Mother? More like a drunk, abusive slut. A childhood? Nope, life isn’t like the movies. Unless you spend your time watching Cinderella, that is. Except, this isn’t Cinderella. There’s no Prince Charming. No fairy godmother, magic, pumpkin carriages or fancy dresses. Wade recognised that his life wasn’t aspired for, young. When the kids at school would torture him, about the scars and bruises littering his body where freckles would another. Physical education was never great. However Wade was sporty enough, to survive. Some would say he had a gift. Others dedication. He wasn’t picky, his options were limited enough. Wade was a people pleaser, he would do whatever to succeed. Football. Football pleased others, his coach, his team and the school district. He was a natural, and he adored the sport. He never considered it anything other then a positive. A distraction from the suffering his home-life caused him. He began to accept that something good, may come out from his harsh beginning. It had given him a key to a lock, hiding him away from the world. 

College shoved him back into the closet. Figuratively speaking, in several ways. On one hand, he was gay. On another, at the college he entered his skills didn’t stand out, at all. In fact, he was nearly always benched. He recognised nearly every student, was a grade above him. Both in age and talent. Wade found himself depressed following this. His life dripping down the drain, followed by his confidence. When Wade next picked up his razor, it wasn’t to shave the developing stubble. Or clean his legs up, at the tiny risk he would be picked to play. It was to slice them up. To make him feel something. Anything. 

Wade left the college half way through his freshman year, with no life ahead of him. He determined he would rent an apartment, get a small time job and just be happy with whatever he gets. He recognised, he was never made for the big league. Or the public eye. The depression never went away, and then the voices came. He felt like he was constantly being followed, watched, observed. You get the picture. At first, it startled him. Scared him, even. Then he grew attached. He understood something was wrong with him. Yet he failed to care. Then he lost his job. Apparently he was underage. His apartment followed, and the voices were all too much. Which led Wade Wilson to signing himself up for the Avengers rehabilitation facility. He just wanted an escape, and for the voices in his head to silence, just a minute would work.


End file.
